Bubbles on Hold
by Natsumi Wakabe
Summary: All Optimus wanted was to take a bath. Was that too much to ask for? Response to a bunny.


Disclaimer: Sorry, but Natsumi's plan to steal the rights to Transformers has failed epically.

A/N: So, Natsumi-sama was going through the various bunnies on the bunny farm, and she found this one. The bunny was "_Optimus is trying to take a bath but people keep barging in every few minutes with important matters_." Naturally, she couldn't resist, so I thought that I'd be of assistance and be this story's secretary. I hope you enjoyed it, and please remember to leave her a review-it helps to pass the time in that little jail cell of hers, called her mind. Thank you, Michiko out.

Optimus Prime was exhausted. He'd been put through the bender that day. First, he'd had to wake up early in order to attend a horribly, ungodly, evil officer's meeting. At that meeting, he'd been informed that his SIC was currently reviewing some of the more…questionable items that were being petitioned for. Some of which he really did not need to know about, even if it came from the twins. Especially if it had anything to do with any of the human's things that they were requesting to be made mech size. He really, really did not need to know. More than that, Prowl had decided to see if he could force the officers present into deactivation through the sheer power of his voice and boredom. Optimus was convinced that he was about to prove the theory right.

Luckily, or perhaps not so luckily all things considering, the alarm for the Decepticons had gone off in the middle of the meeting, thus giving all of them an excuse to avoid the torture known as Prowl's reports. (Honestly, if Prowl kept this up, they'd never get out of meetings.) As it was, he had all but jumped out of his seat in an effort to get out of that room, eager, for once, to confront the Decepticons if it meant that he was free of that torture. When he got to the medbay later that day, he'd reconsidered his earlier enthusiasm.

First, it had been raining and not that pleasant summer rain that should have been there (seriously, it was the middle of July, why couldn't the rain reflect the humid weather?). Instead, it had been a full out storm, complete with lightning, thunder, and very powerful, and insanely brutal winds that had forced many of the bots to crouch closer to the ground, or hold onto one another in an effort not to be blown away. As it was, Optimus had almost been blown off his own feet a few times, quite a feat when you think of how much he weighted and how difficult it was for some of the other robots to throw him around (Megatron didn't count-they both were strong enough to toss each other around, even throw Grimlock some if they had a death wish). So when he had gotten out there to Megatron's newest target, he should have known better than to wish for something to come up and get him out of that meeting. As it was, he'd been able to walk away (barely) from it all, no casualties, but plenty of his soldiers, himself included, having to haul their sorry afts to Ratchet's tender mercies. Prime himself looked like he'd been put through the scrapper a bit. He had plenty of dents; his pain was scratched to the Pit, his left was sparking, his mask was partially bent with a distinct imprint of a thumb, and he had scorch marks all over his back from when the seekers had shot him. Overall not too bad of damage, but that didn't seem to matter to Ratchet. The Hatchet had decided that each and every one of his patients would have to suffer more for making Ratchet have to work over their sorry chassis. And Prime, being the kind of mech that liked to escape Ratchet's wrath with as little ringing in his audios as possible, had kept quite, barely flinching as Ratchet all but yanked at his wires, grousing about idiots who should have been able to dodge bullets that were being fired from mechs that couldn't hit the broadside of Omega Supreme. By the time he got out of the Medbay of Doom, he was aching even more than when he had first went in. Then, he'd had to go do paperwork that was due that week, as well as some reports for the battle, necessary documents that just seemed to keep piling on his desk. Joy of joys.

But finally, the day was over. And all he wanted to do right now, was take a nice, long, relaxing hot bath, listen to some Golden Age music, and recharge, not specifically in that order. He went to his private wash racks, turned on the water and solvent, and once the tub was filled, sank into it. He groaned lightly as he sank in, the heat from the water helping to ease some of the pain from his frame as he sank further into it. Then, there was a brief knock on the door before Ironhide came in, a sour look on his face plates.

"Ironhide, what is it?" _And why are you in my personal quarters?_ He wondered. Normally after such a day, Ironhide would be in the rec room, brooding over a cube or two, muttering about how he should have made a shot at Megatron, or Rumble, or Starscream or whoever it was that had shot at him when his back was turned. So what was he doing here?

"Prime, I gotta talk to you about that new weapons policy." Oh slag. Optimus had been hoping that Ironhide would have forgotten all about that. It was one of the other reasons he'd wanted something to come up, so he wouldn't have to deal with it. But now, he was trapped.

"Couldn't it possibly wait until tomorrow's meeting? I'm in the middle of something here," Optimus said, gesturing to his current situation.

"Prime, if I let it go till tomorrow, then those Decepticons might turn up again." Ironhide stated, crossing his arms in a way that Prime had long learnt to fear: determined to get his way, and not about to back down till he got it.

Prime sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

As soon as Ironhide had been satisfied with the discussion (Prime would now have to get the weapon's policy completely revamped, take out half the clauses he'd originally put in and have Prowl run his numbers) he left Prime, who, though now a little more stressed out than he was before, was now able to sink back into his tub.

*WHOOSH*

"Prime?"

Or not.

"Ratchet," Prime greeted, starting to rise from his lax position. "What brings you here tonight?"_ To my personal quarters. After hours. When I've just been able to _escape_ you?_

"What usually brings me here after a battle? You skipped out early! You didn't grab the damage reports, bring the reports that you should have given me earlier, or stay to finish the discussion we were supposed to have earlier!"

Optimus zoned out briefly, staring at the medic blankly as he continued his rant about all the things he still needed, the stupid things he'd done, general stupidity that seemed to be contagious in the army. He only snapped to attention after Ratchet slammed his servo onto the rim of the tub, making a resounding clang of metal on metal.

"Were you even listening?" he asked, his face plates arranged in a scowl.

"Yes, of course, Ratchet," Optimus calmly stated, internally flinching at the medic's ire. He grabbed the data pads that were had been taken out of subspace while he was in a daze, and put them away. "I'll get on it."

With that the medic left, leaving the slightly frazzled mech behind. Optimus looked down, and realized that during the visits from the two officers, his bath had gotten cold, and he still wasn't relaxed. Sighing, Prime took out the plug and started a new bath.

Prime was finally able to relax after that. Once Ratchet had left, no one had come to interrupt him, there were no explosions from Wheeljack's lab (that he could hear, you never knew with that mech) and the music was turned on, soft and light as he soaked in the tub. _Finally_, he thought,_ some peace and quiet._

*WHOOSH*

_Damn it, _Prime thought as he saw his second in command walked through the door, carrying with him a stack of data pads for him to sign. He sighed, his good mood thoroughly ruined.

"Don't you get the feeling that I'm taking a bath here?" he asked irritated. Was it too much to ask for one night off?

"No disrespect sir, but these need to be signed now before I can get them back to their respective receiving parties."

Prime sighed, resigning himself to that fact that as leader, he was not permitted luxury of rest and relaxation after a shift. But he'd be damned if he had to go back to his office-he'd get it done _here._ After all, there was no harm in trying to enjoy himself while working.

A/N: Okay, so, we're not too sure about it, but hey, it's as good as it's gonna get. Please leave Natsumi a review to tell her how she did. Remember, flames are fed to soul eating demon dogs but constructive criticism is taken and filed away for future references. Thanks!


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